Summer Serial: Part V
As I said before, Allen was able to escape the wrath of June Reid. Ray had him moved to another bed while June was having her sponge bath, and he sent her flowers, chocolate, and all kinds of other gifts. She was still intent on finding out who had crashed into her, but her thirst for this information was somewhat lessened by Ray’s generosity.
June gave a vague description of the perpetrator, and she wasn’t able to give much of a description of the car. All the police knew about the guilty party was that he was a white, bald male in his early thirties. The only reason the police weren’t able to connect his accident with hers was because he was able to partially flee the scene, and convince the police that he was the victim of an assault (something that sounded very unlikely, and probably unbelievable, but for the generous bribe Ray had offered to the officers). The officers convinced June that the person got away, another thing that wouldn’t have been possible if Allen hadn’t stolen the car he was using. It ended up belonging to one of the partners at Young-Neil. Allen used to steal employees’ cars from our company parking lot, and take them for a ride on his lunch break. I guess everyone needs hobbies.
So, that tragedy was put behind us for the moment. The only thing we would have to do is make sure that Allen never show up at the office when June was around. We were lucky that she hadn’t recognized him from work, and we didn’t want to push our luck. The problem was that June was insisting on meeting with me every week to talk about ”business,” and if you couldn’t tell already, Allen was a very impulsive person. So I started to have Tim watch Allen every time I met with June and notify me if he was ever on his way to the office.
Having gotten over that, I could go back to selecting a team. Tim and Allen were the only two major partners I’d been able to bring on. Ray felt that someone with more experience would have been useful, and I was happy to comply.
Henry Hill, as most people know, made a name for himself as being a wiseguy in the mafia during the 1960s and 70s. He would save his own ass in the 80s by turning in some of his best friends. He spent his time testifying at trials, working with the FBI, and selling cocaine. Obviously, it was the cocaine part that got him into trouble. He was busted in Seattle in 1985 for possession, and was again arrested not long ago on the same charges. The most recent charges had been of some concern to Ray, but Henry was able to pay off the judge and get the whole episode behind him. Hill had been so useful to the FBI that they turned their heads to his extra-curricular activities; Henry used this to his advantaged.
So I have to admit I was a little worried when Ray ordered me to take Hill on as my chief advisor. I agreed, but it was only after the strictest reassurances from Ray that Hill had mended his ways that I agreed to take him on. Ray’s speech about how he owned me, and he was the boss also helped me make my decision. We scheduled a meeting for a week later where we would talk about what Hill could do for us.
This next part I must say is a little embarrassing for me. Those of you reading will tell me how much of an idiot I am, but I only ask you to try and see this one from my point of view.
Imagine that you’ve spent the last four years working in the mailroom of a law firm after having graduated college. You spend your entire day where people don’t know that you have some intelligence beyond memorizing what floor accounting is on, and where docketing information goes. You spend your days working hard, and nothing ever gets noticed. When you do your job right, no one knows that you’re doing it, and that’s the point of your job. You give the people their mail, take whatever they have, and deal with it without screwing up.
It’s a thankless job, and you have a thankless boss who knows perfectly well how thankless your job is, and he couldn’t care less as long as you do it right. You do all this making minimum wage, and you wonder whether life is worth living. That’s when you go home to your crappy apartment and watch TV until the next day when you do it all over again. You work hard, so you rarely screw up, but no one’s perfect and every once in a while you make a small mistake. It’s then that some secretary screams at you for being a total dumb ass and writes up a complaint to your boss. Your boss, of course, welcomes this news with open arms because he knows that enough of these complaints will get you fired, and there’s nothing your boss likes more than firing people.
So you walk home from work along one of the seedier streets in the city, and you come across all kinds of people including drug dealers, prostitutes and the homeless. You look at all these people as if you’re better than them, but the only real difference is that you have a job, and you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life. But, these prostitutes intrigue you, and you see them every day, every day that you spend your life in quiet desperation, wanting nothing more than to be noticed for something positive.
You live a life of insignificance, and there’s nothing you want more than feel like you make a difference in someone’s life. You think a girlfriend would make your problems go away, but she ends up faking a pregnancy, and when you find out she’s lying, she dumps you because you’re too desperate to dump her. You live a life of insignificance, and the idea of a prostitute doesn’t sound too bad too you. So you buy one once, and you wake up the next morning feeling better. It’s not because you’ve been laid, it’s because someone has seen you outside of your invisible role at work, and it gives you an excuse to act like a social person again.
So cast all the judgment you want on me, but just remember that you don’t have my job, and if you do, you probably don’t have my life, and if you do, then you might want to try getting a hooker, it makes the pain go away.
I had a run in with Allen the day before the Henry Hill meeting, and I was fuming. I had to use some of the company funds to bail him out of jail for the second time in a week. The first time, he was in a bar fight, and he’d accidentally taken a swing at a policeman. The second time, he was driving drunk in a farmer’s field just outside of town. I had no idea how he’d gotten there, and neither did he for that matter, but there he was, and the cops took him in again. We got in a long fight that ended up with him punching me in the gut, causing me to spit up blood. It was a nasty occasion, and I’d started to feel insignificant again. So, I went to Beale Street to find a prostitute.
I found a new girl who I’d never seen before. She was gorgeous (she looked like she hadn’t been a professional for very long) and better yet, she was cheap. Alarm bells should have been ringing, but it wasn’t like I did this every day. I wouldn’t know what the alarm was when it went off. We went back to my place where she suggested that we have some fun with handcuffs. Now, just for the record, I’ve heard about the Seinfeld episode with George, and the woman who ties him up and takes his clothes many times since this has happened, but I hadn’t seen it then. You spend years watching Seinfeld reruns, and you figure that you’ve seen them all. But there’s always one that you just happen to miss. After all, you can’t watch it every night.
So you probably know what happens here. I realized while I was sitting for eighteen hours, tied to my bed with no clothing or telephone within reach, that the reason I’d never seen her before and that she was so cheap was because she did this with everyone. I felt more insignificant at that moment than at any other time in my life. It wouldn’t be until the next night that Tim would think to look for me at my place. He busted the door down (it took about half an hour, he’s pretty weak), went straight to my closet for some clothing, and he threw it to me without looking. I went straight for the phone to call Ray. I had missed the Hill meeting, lost all my money, and had humiliated myself. I was about to call a man who cared about me just enough to make me feel like a total loser for what I’d done. I was not looking forward to making this call.
June gave a vague description of the perpetrator, and she wasn’t able to give much of a description of the car. All the police knew about the guilty party was that he was a white, bald male in his early thirties. The only reason the police weren’t able to connect his accident with hers was because he was able to partially flee the scene, and convince the police that he was the victim of an assault (something that sounded very unlikely, and probably unbelievable, but for the generous bribe Ray had offered to the officers). The officers convinced June that the person got away, another thing that wouldn’t have been possible if Allen hadn’t stolen the car he was using. It ended up belonging to one of the partners at Young-Neil. Allen used to steal employees’ cars from our company parking lot, and take them for a ride on his lunch break. I guess everyone needs hobbies.
So, that tragedy was put behind us for the moment. The only thing we would have to do is make sure that Allen never show up at the office when June was around. We were lucky that she hadn’t recognized him from work, and we didn’t want to push our luck. The problem was that June was insisting on meeting with me every week to talk about ”business,” and if you couldn’t tell already, Allen was a very impulsive person. So I started to have Tim watch Allen every time I met with June and notify me if he was ever on his way to the office.
Having gotten over that, I could go back to selecting a team. Tim and Allen were the only two major partners I’d been able to bring on. Ray felt that someone with more experience would have been useful, and I was happy to comply.
Henry Hill, as most people know, made a name for himself as being a wiseguy in the mafia during the 1960s and 70s. He would save his own ass in the 80s by turning in some of his best friends. He spent his time testifying at trials, working with the FBI, and selling cocaine. Obviously, it was the cocaine part that got him into trouble. He was busted in Seattle in 1985 for possession, and was again arrested not long ago on the same charges. The most recent charges had been of some concern to Ray, but Henry was able to pay off the judge and get the whole episode behind him. Hill had been so useful to the FBI that they turned their heads to his extra-curricular activities; Henry used this to his advantaged.
So I have to admit I was a little worried when Ray ordered me to take Hill on as my chief advisor. I agreed, but it was only after the strictest reassurances from Ray that Hill had mended his ways that I agreed to take him on. Ray’s speech about how he owned me, and he was the boss also helped me make my decision. We scheduled a meeting for a week later where we would talk about what Hill could do for us.
This next part I must say is a little embarrassing for me. Those of you reading will tell me how much of an idiot I am, but I only ask you to try and see this one from my point of view.
Imagine that you’ve spent the last four years working in the mailroom of a law firm after having graduated college. You spend your entire day where people don’t know that you have some intelligence beyond memorizing what floor accounting is on, and where docketing information goes. You spend your days working hard, and nothing ever gets noticed. When you do your job right, no one knows that you’re doing it, and that’s the point of your job. You give the people their mail, take whatever they have, and deal with it without screwing up.
It’s a thankless job, and you have a thankless boss who knows perfectly well how thankless your job is, and he couldn’t care less as long as you do it right. You do all this making minimum wage, and you wonder whether life is worth living. That’s when you go home to your crappy apartment and watch TV until the next day when you do it all over again. You work hard, so you rarely screw up, but no one’s perfect and every once in a while you make a small mistake. It’s then that some secretary screams at you for being a total dumb ass and writes up a complaint to your boss. Your boss, of course, welcomes this news with open arms because he knows that enough of these complaints will get you fired, and there’s nothing your boss likes more than firing people.
So you walk home from work along one of the seedier streets in the city, and you come across all kinds of people including drug dealers, prostitutes and the homeless. You look at all these people as if you’re better than them, but the only real difference is that you have a job, and you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life. But, these prostitutes intrigue you, and you see them every day, every day that you spend your life in quiet desperation, wanting nothing more than to be noticed for something positive.
You live a life of insignificance, and there’s nothing you want more than feel like you make a difference in someone’s life. You think a girlfriend would make your problems go away, but she ends up faking a pregnancy, and when you find out she’s lying, she dumps you because you’re too desperate to dump her. You live a life of insignificance, and the idea of a prostitute doesn’t sound too bad too you. So you buy one once, and you wake up the next morning feeling better. It’s not because you’ve been laid, it’s because someone has seen you outside of your invisible role at work, and it gives you an excuse to act like a social person again.
So cast all the judgment you want on me, but just remember that you don’t have my job, and if you do, you probably don’t have my life, and if you do, then you might want to try getting a hooker, it makes the pain go away.
I had a run in with Allen the day before the Henry Hill meeting, and I was fuming. I had to use some of the company funds to bail him out of jail for the second time in a week. The first time, he was in a bar fight, and he’d accidentally taken a swing at a policeman. The second time, he was driving drunk in a farmer’s field just outside of town. I had no idea how he’d gotten there, and neither did he for that matter, but there he was, and the cops took him in again. We got in a long fight that ended up with him punching me in the gut, causing me to spit up blood. It was a nasty occasion, and I’d started to feel insignificant again. So, I went to Beale Street to find a prostitute.
I found a new girl who I’d never seen before. She was gorgeous (she looked like she hadn’t been a professional for very long) and better yet, she was cheap. Alarm bells should have been ringing, but it wasn’t like I did this every day. I wouldn’t know what the alarm was when it went off. We went back to my place where she suggested that we have some fun with handcuffs. Now, just for the record, I’ve heard about the Seinfeld episode with George, and the woman who ties him up and takes his clothes many times since this has happened, but I hadn’t seen it then. You spend years watching Seinfeld reruns, and you figure that you’ve seen them all. But there’s always one that you just happen to miss. After all, you can’t watch it every night.
So you probably know what happens here. I realized while I was sitting for eighteen hours, tied to my bed with no clothing or telephone within reach, that the reason I’d never seen her before and that she was so cheap was because she did this with everyone. I felt more insignificant at that moment than at any other time in my life. It wouldn’t be until the next night that Tim would think to look for me at my place. He busted the door down (it took about half an hour, he’s pretty weak), went straight to my closet for some clothing, and he threw it to me without looking. I went straight for the phone to call Ray. I had missed the Hill meeting, lost all my money, and had humiliated myself. I was about to call a man who cared about me just enough to make me feel like a total loser for what I’d done. I was not looking forward to making this call.
To Be Continued…
posted by The Great Magnet | 12:08 PM
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